A Challenge of Epic Proportions
by selenehekate
Summary: Twoshot. Lucy has always loved muggle literature, but she knows her dad doesn't approve. Forced to hide her passion, she searches desperately for a way to be who she truly wants to be: a writer. Winner of the Shakespeare challenge!
1. A Challenge of Epic Proportions

_I call upon Calliope, muse of epic tales, daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, to aid me in my quest. I aim to divulge a story so grand, so legendary in stature that nothing shall ever rival it again. And with Calliope by my side, guiding my quill in the right direction, then will I be able to weave this dark tale. _

_It all began many years ago, deep within Godric's Hollow-_

"Lucy!"

I jumped, my head snapping back as my arms instinctively reached out to cover my work. As my heart sped up, I turned, looking into the eyes of my younger cousin. "Merlin, Lily. What are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Mum and Dad brought us today," she said, peering up at me through her wide, eleven year old eyes. "I thought you knew we were coming."

"Oh, right. I think Molly might have mentioned something about that last night," I said, taking in a deep breath to try and calm down. She took a step closer to me, quickly glancing down at the parchment I was so desperate to cover. Swallowing, I spoke up. I needed to distract her... "It's such a nice day, Lily. Why don't you go outside?"

But her brown eyes just glimmered as she gave me a smile. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the page.

Fear overcame me; I had to force it down. _Not yet,_ I silently pleaded. _No one could know yet._.. "Nothing."

"That's not true," Lily said with a small chuckle. "You're hiding it from me. That means it's something."

"No, it doesn't," I said weakly.

"Lucy," she said, raising an eyebrow at me. "You forget; I have two older brothers. I know by _now _when someone is lying."

"Well aren't you just an astute little girl," I muttered.

She made a face. "Oh, please stop with the old people vocabulary. You sound _exactly _like Aunt Hermione, and I _really _can't take having two of you running around with your big words; I never understand what's going on! I'm only eleven."

"And you should do eleven year old things," I said, gathering the parchment together in my arms. "Go and play with James and Albus. Or say hi to Molly. I'm sure she'd _love_ to see you."

"Molly's boring," the young girl protested. "All she wants to talk about are the falling cauldron bottom standards. I feel like I'm in school."

"Ah," I said, standing up. I started inching my way out of the room, being careful to keep the parchment I was writing on hidden. "You're not in school yet, Lily. But you will be soon. You should cherish these last few days of summer and freedom while they last, and go play with your brothers. Go on, be a kid."

"I'd rather spend time with you."

"I'll see you at Hogwarts," I said, reminding her. "I'm only a sixth year, you know."

"Oh yes," she said dryly. "We'll just be the best of friends, as we spend all of our time away from each other. Especially if I end up in Gryffindor."

I let out a small laugh. "What does _that _mean? Are you ashamed to be seen talking to a Ravenclaw like me?"

"No," she said. "But if you're in a different house than me, I won't be able to spend a lot of time with you."

"Yes," I said, holding up a finger. "However, we _will_ see each other. Even if we can only spend time together during meals, we'll still hang out. But Molly? She won't be there with us. So you should really go and see her now."

"But-"

Her protests, however, fell on deaf eyes, because I was already out of the kitchen and scurrying off down the hallway.

* * *

I felt cruel, denying my cousin like that, but I couldn't help it. She was too close to me, too close to what may very well turn out to be my life's work... I just couldn't have that. _I'll make it up to her_, I thought. _I don't know how, but I will. But for now..._

I needed to get to work. I had so much to do, and so little time to do it in, so little time before my words became irrelevant...

You see, I was a writer. Ever since I was young, I'd read anything I could get my hands on, and as a consequence, the passion for writing began to blossom in my veins until I could no longer deny the inevitable: I'd been born a writer, and I would die a writer. Nothing would change that.

And so I embraced my love for literature over my magical talents, and decided to take on a rather daunting task. My goal in life, what I was striving towards, was not to write a complete _history_ of Harry Potter, or even of Lord Voldemort. No, too many young witches had already jumped upon that bandwagon. Instead, I wished to recount the lives of Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter together in an _epic poem_.

Not exactly something you hear every day, I know.

Perhaps the unconventional nature of my secret desire was why I held it so close to my chest. The wizarding world wasn't ready for such literary creativity. To most people, such as my father, _magic_ was all that mattered. But the power of the mind and the way words could be crafted? They never even considered it.

And so I hid my passion from those I loved, worrying about their scorn and laughter, and frightened that they'd judge me on my half-finished musings before I'd even fully etched out an outline for the poem. I couldn't let my dream die by revealing it too early.

And so I'd hide my passion. And I'd wait.

Of course, I'd have to wait even longer to display my talent than I'd anticipated, given that I never actually had any time to _work_ on my epic poem. No sooner had I managed to escape from Lily to my room than Molly burst in. I jerked away from my desk in surprise, throwing an old sweater over my work as she raised an eyebrow. "Merlin, Lily was right. Stealthy you are not."

I scowled up at my sister, removing my sweater from the desk. Molly was the only person who knew of my dreams; it'd be near impossible to keep them from her, given that we'd shared a room for my entire life. "I thought you were bonding with Uncle Harry."

"He had to leave," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "That's why Lily, Albus, and James are here. Mum and Daddy are watching them while Uncle Harry runs some errands. Which, by the way, I already told you." She sat down with a _plop_ on her own bed. "Honestly, Lucy. It's like you spend so much of your time with your nose in your books that you don't even register the world around you."

"That's not a bad thing!"

"Well I beg to differ," she said, smoothing her hands over her impeccably straight hair. "You'd do better to join the real world every now and then."

"I understand more about the real world than you think," I murmured, glancing down at the pages on my desk.

Molly frowned, following my gaze. "Oh, you aren't really going on about that rubbish again, are you? You can't _write_ for a living, Lucy. It's a terrible job. They severely underpay you, and no one respects you. Unless you plan on being the next Rita Skeeter-"

"I have no desire to become the next Rita Skeeter," I protested. "I want to be the next Homer."

"_Who?_"

"Homer," I repeated. "Surely I've mentioned him before. He wrote an epic poem. You know, like I'm attempting to-"

"Lucy!" Molly groaned. "You can't do that! Daddy will never approve. Merlin, Daddy doesn't even approve of all of those muggle novels that Aunt Hermione keeps shoving down our throats-"

"Hey, I enjoy those muggle novels! Thomas Hardy, William Faulkner, James Joyce-"

"None of them matter," Molly interrupted. "None of them are infused with the wisdom of magic, so none of them matter."

"That's Dad's philosophy, not mine."

"Daddy has a point, though. No," Molly said, stopping me as I began to protest. "Listen. You are not a muggle. Understand? You don't do muggle things. I don't _care_ how much you enjoy reading muggle novels; they aren't important in our society. Magic is what matters, understand? Magic." She sighed, crossing her legs. "Now if you really want to write, you can pen a textbook-"

"That's not the same-"

"But!" she interjected, forcing me to lapse into silence once more. "But you have to give up this nonsense about writing some great muggle story. That's not your place in this world. Daddy knows it, I know it, and you should know it too."

"But it wouldn't be a _muggle story_," I said, pleading with her. "It would detail the history of Lord Voldemort and Uncle Harry's struggle. It would go into the psychology of the two and the trials they faced and the magic they used... And best of all, it'd be told in beautiful verses."

"Lucy, someone has already written an entire textbook on the magic of the Lord Voldemort war."

"Yes! The magic, not the psychology and the philosophy. Besides, I've read it. It's a terrible bore," I said.

"You're just wasting your time, Lucy," Molly said with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry, but you are."

"Can't you just leave me to write in peace?"

"No," she said simply. "If I do, you might do something stupid like try and finish that _poem_ of yours. I'd hate for you to waste your time. Really, Lucy. I'm helping you here."

"No, you're not," I said. But I fell silent. She wasn't going to change her mind. To her, my quest was ludicrous, and she was never going to allow me to find the time to write. I needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else where I would be completely at peace.

The first day of school could not come soon enough.

* * *

Three weeks later found me upon Platform 9 3/4, standing beside my father as I waited to board the train. Molly and Mum were both occupied at home, leaving my father as the only one left who could see me off.

"Now study hard, Lucy," he said, laying his hand on my shoulder. "You need top grades if you want to work at the Ministry. That's how your mum and I got to work there, that's how your sister got to work there, and that's how you'll do it too."

I sighed. How could I possibly tell him I wanted to be the writer of an epic poem and not a Ministry official? "Yes, father."

"We expect great things from you, Lucy. But we know you'll meet our expectations." He gave a small chuckle. "You always do."

"Yes, father."

"Don't be afraid to converse with your teachers. It's always better to have a strong rapport with them than no rapport at all; they can help get you hired, you know," he said, nodding his head.

"Of course, father."

"And you simply _must_ stay out of trouble. The Ministry absolutely _frowns _on any rule-breaking - which makes sense, given that we write all of the laws - so if you want to be hired one day, you must-"

"Merlin, Percy! Do you really have to give Lucy that same speech _every year_?"

I turned with my father, facing away from the train as I shot a grateful smile towards my Uncle Ron. He stood grinning, one arm looped around Rose's shoulders, the other tucked into the crook of Aunt Hermione's arm. Hugo stood beside them, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for something...

My father scowled. "You should know by now, Ronald, that excellence must be nurtured. I expect nothing but the best from my children."

"And that, Percy," Aunt Hermione said with a shake of her head, "is where our parenting styles differ." My father opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Hugo," she said, addressing her son. "I think I see Lily. Isn't that her by the barrier?"

"Oh! Thank you, Mum! C'mon Rose," he said, before hurrying off through the crowd, his sister quickly following in his wake.

"Don't miss the train! And say good-bye before you leave!" she called out to them. She turned to face my father once more. "But really, Percy. How have you been? It's been ages since we've last spoken."

"Fine thank you," my father said somewhat stiffly. His apparent distaste for Aunt Hermione's lifestyle permeated through his cold tone. He didn't like that she spent half of her time in the muggle world and raised her children in a muggle way. "Though I'm afraid I have no time to catch up now. I'm only here to see little Lucy off, and then I must be going."

"Not so little now, though," Uncle Ron said, giving me a grin. "What are you now? A sixth year?"

"Yes. I'm starting my NEWT classes."

Uncle Ron gave a low whistle. "Good luck with those. I was always dreadful with them. Terribly hard, those classes."

"Oh, that's rubbish," Aunt Hermione said with a snort. "Don't you go putting ideas into her head! Lucy will be fine. She's a brilliant student. Takes after her father," she said, giving a small nod to Dad. He blinked, startled by the unexpected praise. "Tell me, Lucy. What classes are you taking this year?"

"Oh, uh, Potions, of course. And Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Ancient Runes," I answered, ticking them off one by one in my head.

"Really? Ancient Runes is such a fascinating subject," she said, before her brow furrowed. "Hang on. What about Muggle Studies?"

"Oh, no," I said, a faint blush raising in my cheeks. "I'm not taking that." I'd wanted to. Oh, how I'd wanted to. But I knew my father would never have approved. No, he wanted his family to be a strong Ministry family, and he would never have let me deviate from that path.

"Really? But why? You were always so interested in muggle culture!"

"Lucy has better things to do than waste time studying muggles," my father interjected.

"It's not a waste of time," Aunt Hermione said, her jaw tightening. "It's a culture that needs to be studied, experienced-"

"I agree with you completely," my father said. "It does. Wizards need to devote time to learning about muggles. It will help our society to grow. But my daughter doesn't need to be one of those people. She has bigger ambitions than that."

Oh, if only he knew...

"But what if that's what she wants?" she asked, figuratively reading my mind.

"Really, Hermione," my father said. "I know you and I don't ever see eye to eye. You still think of me as the naive teenager who abandoned his family in favor of ambition. I'm not that man, Hermione. Family comes first. I will always be there for my girls, and they know that. What they want _does _matter. However," he said, raising his voice. "Excellence is _still_ of vital importance in this world, and I will do my best to make sure they reach that level. Lucy understands this. She wants to be excellent."

"But Lucy," Aunt Hermione said, turning to me. "You always _loved_ reading those books I brought you, and writing short stories about them... Surely you must want to take this class?"

I did, I really did! But I couldn't say so. Not with my father here; he'd never forgive me for choosing muggle life as my field of study. I couldn't tell them; not yet. And so I swallowed. "Not really," I said, before taking a step back. Aunt Hermione's face fell, and I couldn't help but feel bad about lying to her.

"Oh," she said. "Well, I guess then-"

"Hey little Lucy!" I turned, relieved to be distracted from this unpleasant conversation. My fifth-year cousin James approached me, waving his arms frantically. "Come on," he called out. "We have to board the train."

"Coming," I called back, before automatically hugging my father. "I'll write you, okay?"

"Of course, Lucy," he said, giving me a small kiss on the top of my head. "See you at Christmas."

"Good-bye Uncle Ron. Aunt Hermione," I said, quickly hugging both of them.

"See you later, little Lucy."

"If you ever want to talk..." Aunt Hermione said, trailing off.

"Of course," I said, backing away from them and towards James. "Don't worry, though. I'll see you all at Christmas." I turned, hurrying away to catch up with James. As we moved quickly towards the train, I bit my lip. I'd managed to preserve my lie. I was safe; my father wouldn't know about my desire. It was all okay.

Yet in a way, I felt even more miserable than I already was. I shook my head as I climbed up onto the train, ashamed of my stupidity. I'd picked family loyalty over honesty. I was a liar. And I hated myself for it. "'Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,'" I muttered.

"_What_?" I heard James ask from behind me.

I answered without turning around. "It's from _Hamlet_," I said softly. "A play no one should know I've read."

* * *

"Merlin, if it isn't little Lucy!"

A twinge of annoyance crept over me as again I was interrupted, the entrance of another person ruining any chance I'd have of working on my epic poem. But then I saw who it was, and I let out a small laugh, standing up to give Lysander a hug. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

"I don't know," he said with a grin. "Though your short appearance might have something to do with it."

"Hey, be nice! I _am_ a year older than you, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, and you never let me forget it! Even though I'm twice your size," he teased.

"So where's Lorcan?"

"Dunno," Lysander said, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "I think he went looking for your cousin."

I raised an eyebrow. "Rose?"

"Dominique."

"Ah," I said with a small smile. "Of course he did. It had to be one of them, and who could resist the little blond vixen?"

Lysander raised an eyebrow. "Someone sounds awfully bitter. Tell me, did _you_ really want to be the sixth-year vixen? Or are you just jealous that she has my brother's attention?"

"Neither, if you must know," I said, sitting back down again. "I'm just thankful that I won't have to spend any time living with her. That's the one blessing of being the sole Weasley to be sorted into Ravenclaw; no Dominique."

"Who knows? Maybe Hugo will join you this year."

"I doubt it," I said with a snort. "If _Rose_ isn't a Ravenclaw, than there's no way Hugo will be one. His sister is a much bigger reader than Hugo ever could hope to be."

"Speaking of," Lysander began. "What muggle novel did you bring with you today? You _always _have an interesting one."

I hesitated a second before speaking. "None, actually."

He raised an eyebrow. "_None_? Well isn't that unusual. I don't think I can remember a single day in which I _haven't _come across you reading something muggle-written. So why am I now?"

"My father doesn't approve."

"Ah, and it suddenly makes sense! You want to live up to his expectations, don't you?" He let out a quick laugh. "Yes of course. Well that won't last, Lucy. You and I both know that you were always meant to work in the muggle field of magic."

"You can't know that."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I can guess. And I think you'd be bloody brilliant. Not to mention it'll make you happy, little Lucy. Just you wait. By the end of this year, you'll be telling Percy Weasley everything."

"It would break his heart," I protested.

"Maybe," he said simply. "But hiding who you are is breaking yours."

* * *

"And so begins another year!" Eleanor Corner said with a laugh. It was after the feast, after both Lily had been sorted into Gryffindor and Hugo had surprisingly found his way into Hufflepuff. Us four Ravenclaw girls were slowly unpacking our things. "This is going to be a wild year!"

"Yes," Tressa Ackly said. "Wild with work. We have to start preparing for NEWTs."

"Always the killjoy," Hannah Davis muttered.

"Really, now," Eleanor said, chucking a pillow at her. "Lighten up!"

I laughed with the rest of the girls, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "It's great to be back, though," I said with a sigh. "Here with you crazy lot." Hannah snorted as she reached for her shoes. "It feels like home."

"It does, doesn't it," Tressa said, leaning against the wall. "I always feel rather empty when I'm away from here. Like I'm missing my family, or something."

"I know what you mean," Hannah said with a yawn. "Family."

I smiled before scooting my way completely onto the bed. "I'm a little tired now," I said slowly, grabbing my wand from the table. "I think I'll just turn in."

"Already?" Eleanor said with a frown. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," I assured her. "Just a bit tired. Don't worry about me. I'll just put up a silencing charm. You can all continue to carry on. But I'll talk to you all tomorrow."

"Of course," Hannah said with a grin. "We have a fair bit of catching up to do before classes start."

I laughed. "Most definitely. Good night."

"Night."

"Sleep well!"

"We'll talk tomorrow."

I closed the hangings around my bed, and quickly conjured a silencing charm and a light charm so the area above my bed inside the hangings was flooded with light. From beneath the sheets I pulled my poem out, and, quill in hand, I smiled down at my work.

Finally, I could write without being interrupted. Finally, I can work on my passion without any distractions. Finally, I could follow my heart without any guilt. This was where I was meant to be. This was perfection for me. This was my paradise.

For the first time in months, I felt at peace with who I was. I was Lucy Weasley, a witch, and I was a Ravenclaw student who would one day be a published author. No matter what, I'd fight to make my dream come true. Maybe I wasn't ready to tell my father the truth yet, but one day I would. One day, he'd know everything. I knew that once I returned home, I would be in hell again and never at peace with my work, but I put that thought out of my mind. Yes, life would be dismal again next summer, or even over winter break, but until then, I'd continue to live happily in my paradise.

Here, in this little corner of the world, away from the prying eyes of others, I could truly be myself. Here, I could do whatever it was that I wanted to do. Here, I could just be me. No one could judge me. No one could tell me that my dreams were wrong. No one could plan my future for me. I was in control here. And it felt amazing.

Smiling to myself, I brought my quill down to the parchment and began to write.

* * *

Hey everyone! So I've recently been playing around a lot with some of the NextGen characters, and I've come to realize that they can be a lot of fun to write! So here's my characterization of Lucy. She's a little different from most of her classmates, but I think, in a way, most of us on this site can relate to her. We all enjoy writing, and we all have someone in our life who thinks our hobby is a waste of time, or who we're scared to share this part of our life with. And I think looking at this from the magical perspective is kind of neat.

This was written for both the 'Paradise' competition and the Shakespeare Quotes Competition over at the HPFCF thread.

If you enjoyed this, then check out my rather humorous look into the relationship between Draco and Astoria, entitled Baggage and tell me what you think!

You could also look at my characterization of Hermione further and read my short oneshot As Memory Serves.

In addition to that, check out my rather adorable oneshot Ten Sickles. It's listed as Lily/Regulus, but there's a twist... And (as a bonus), it recently won second place in the Will You Be My Valentine competition! So check it out!

Thank you so much to everyone who will review! I really appreciated it!

Lurve,

Selene


	2. Subtle

"You're not being very subtle, you know."

I jumped, spinning around in my seat to find Lysander leaning casually against the train compartment's doorframe, a huge grin on his face. I scowled as he stepped into the empty room, shutting the door behind him. _Why did he always try and sneak up on me?_ "Frighten a girl to death, why don't you? Just how long have you been standing there?" I demanded, uncrossing my legs.

He shrugged as he sat down across from me, leaning forward in his seat. "Dunno. A few minutes, maybe. Long enough to be able to tell that you're mighty_nervous_ about something."

I scoffed, recrossing my legs. "Am not!"

"No?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Well then, my mistake. Sorry, I just thought that the darting eyes and the constant jiggling of your foot meant something. Apparently not."

"I'm not allowed to have quirks?"

"Lucy," he said, his good-natured grin sliding off of his face. "I've known you for almost ten years. I think I know you well enough to be able to tell when something's wrong."

"Obviously not," I muttered, turning away from him in order to look out the window. "Because nothing is wrong." Slowly, I began to shake my foot again, reveling in the distraction that the constant motion brought.

Lysander shook his head. "Why, in the name of Merlin, are you so _nervous_? It's the Christmas holidays! You're going home for the next two weeks! You should be completely overjoyed right now. Instead, you look like someone just told you that reading James Joy had been banned at Hogwarts."

"Joyce," I corrected, rolling my eyes. "It's James Joyce. He's Irish. And I hardly think my attitude has been melancholy enough, as of late, to warrant your concern."

He held up both of his hands. "_Excuse_ me, Miss Weasley. _I _was just noting the vast difference between the calm, humorous, and altogether relaxed girl you seemed to be a mere two weeks ago, and the jittery, defensive mess you are now."

"Oh, aren't you _so_ kind," I said, sending a glare his way. "It's good to know that I'm such a wreck that even _you_ can tell."

He blinked, a slightly pained look coming over his face before he looked away from me, standing up. "Fine, then," he said, his voice taking on a monotone quality. I immediately regretted my sarcasm; I hadn't wanted to actually hurt him... "Nothing's wrong. I get it. I'll see you when term begins again." He stepped over me, opening the door to the compartment.

"Lysander-"

But he was already gone, the door shutting with a soft _click_. Suddenly, I was alone again.

I hadn't meant to chase him away. Sure, his incessant questioning was something I'd been trying _desperately_ to avoid, but not at the cost of his friendship. Lysander and I had been close since I was young; he understood me when others didn't, and showed me extreme amounts of kindness. He didn't deserve to be treated in such a horrible manner.

But I didn't go after him. I didn't hunt him down and apologize. I didn't tell him that I was being an ass and that he was right. I didn't ask him to come back and talk with me, because I didn't want to face the truth.

I was going home for the holidays. However, unlike my dear cousins Dominique, Hugo, Rose, and the others, I wouldn't be spending my holiday gallivanting around, bonding with my mother and sharing a few laughs with my father. No, I would be holed up in my room, guarding my secret.

I was a writer. I always had been, and I always would be, no matter what anyone said. One day, I _would _accomplish my dream to pen an epic poem, worthy of Homer himself, depicting the philosophical and historical aspects of the war against Voldemort. No wizard or witch had attempted such a feat in the entire history of our people. I would be unique, I would be creative...

I would be disowned by my father.

He wanted nothing more than for me to have a cushy Ministry career. Father's goal in life was to have both of his daughters working for the government in highly-paid jobs; he would _never_ let me chase my writing dream.

So I lived at Hogwarts in a cloud, pretending that the school was my only home and I could be myself there. I didn't have to hide my writing dreams because no one asked about them. The future wasn't something we readily discussed; I could write and no one would notice. I was free.

But as the Christmas break drew closer and closer to becoming a reality, fear built up within me. _Would this be it? Would I be unmasked?_ I lived without a moments' peace during the holidays, and I dreamed for the days when I would return once more to Hogwarts.

Lysander was right, in a way. I _was_ nervous. The fear of my family learning about who I truly strived to be permeated my core. I didn't want them to know; I didn't want their disapproval. However, Lysander was right about something else as well, something that he'd told me at the beginning of the year: I couldn't keep living this lie for much longer. I couldn't do this anymore. It was slowly destroying me, and the truth needed to come out.

And this knowledge absolutely terrified me.

* * *

"Lucy!"

I couldn't help but laugh as my sister Molly threw her arms around me. "It's good to see you, Molly."

She pulled back, shaking her head at me. "Dear Merlin, why haven't you written me? It's been so long since I've heard from you, Lucy! I was getting worried you'd forgotten how to write at all."

"Oh, there's no danger of that happening," I muttered, mentally preparing myself for the tirade that was to come. Molly and Lysander were the only ones who knew that I was different, that I wanted to write. And while Lysander may have supported my ambitions, Molly...

Molly just sighed, looping her arm through mine. "Oh, come now, Lucy. You aren't still fantasizing about being a writer, are you? I thought one term of nice, NEWT level classes would cure you of that. Don't get me wrong," she said, pulling me towards the barrier. "It's a nice idea. It's just not proper at all. It's not the Weasley way."

"So I've gathered," I said rather dryly. "Say, where are Mum and Father?"

"Work," she said simply. "It's the last big day at the office before the holidays, so they're trying to squeeze in a few extra hours. They actually demanded that I take off early to pick you up." She shook her head. "As if cauldron bottoms would examine themselves!"

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as we made our way through the barrier. "You're _still_ working on that? I thought you'd be finished by the end of the summer!"

"Oh, Lucy," she said with a small smile. "I've just barely scratched the surface! It's utterly _fascinating,_ really. Why, just the other day-"

"Merlin, Molly," I said, shaking my head as I gave a light laugh. "I have to admit, I've really missed you!"

* * *

"Oh, welcome home, Little Lucy!"

I winced as my mother enveloped me into her arms, squeezing the air from my lungs as she gave me a big kiss on the forehead. "Good to see you, Mum," I said, tilting my head back to look up at her.

She grabbed ahold of my chin, a large grin on her face. "Oh, it's just been so long! I always hate the school year; I'm forced to miss watching you grow up. If only I could see you every day."

I plastered a smile onto my face. I did _not_ want to see my mother every day; I'd never be able to find a moment to write, and I'd probably go mad from hiding my secret. "Oh, that would be something," I said, feigning cheer. "But that's more of a muggle practice, really-"

"Well, then the muggles have done something right, hmm?" she said, running one of her hands through my hair. "Oh, Lucy, you _really_ need a haircut."

"Mum-"

"Come on. Sit, sit; I can have your hair all fixed up in a moment." She led me over to one of the barstools that sat at the counter and pulled a pair of silver scissors and her wand from a drawer. A contemplative look was on her face. "Did Molly go out?"

I nodded. "Yes, she just dropped me off out front. She went off to have drinks with Victoire, I believe."

"Ah, well she better be home in a few hours, that's all I have to say." She approached me, waving the scissors in the air. "I won't have her running about at all hours of the night."

"Not too short, okay? My hair was horribly short last time."

"Yes, yes, I know," she muttered as she pointed her wand at the scissors, animating them. "And you'll never let me forget it."

"Never," I said with a small chuckle as she took to work on my hair. "So when's supper?"

"After your father gets home. Hold still-" she hit my shoulder, pushing it back down from where I'd unconsciously raised it. Father... "He's working incredibly late, you know. Pulling a few extra hours..." She paused, the magical scissors slowing for a moment before they sped back up again. "Lucy," she said, her voice quiet. "Darling, can you keep a secret?"

"Of course, Mum. Molly's the one who _loves _to talk about confidential information, not me."

She laughed. "True, true. However, you simply mustn't say a _word. _I don't think your father would want you to know yet."

I swallowed. That didn't sound good... "Know what?"

"Well, - hold still! - he's been taking a few extra shifts as of late, trying to curry some favor with those few people above him. Do you know why?"

"I haven't the faintest of ideas."

"Well Minister Shacklebolt knows of your talents, Little Lucy," she explained, her voice rising with each word. "He knows how gifted you are in Charms, and he's been keeping an eye on you!"

I paused, unsure of how to react. "...That's a good thing?"

"Still, darling! Hold still! And it's a brilliant thing, darling! Your father's trying to convince him to take you on as an intern after you graduate, and I think Minister Shacklebolt is considering it! Imagine that, Lucy. You could work for the Minister! It's the highest honor! Aren't you just _thrilled_?"

"Oh yes," I muttered, horror rising within me. "Absolutely thrilled."

* * *

A few nights later found me sitting at my desk, quill in hand, working on my epic poem. So far into the break, I'd managed to find a few spare moments here and there to work on the piece, but overall, my muse was running dry. All of the sneaking around that I was doing and the façade I had erected was draining; all of my energy was spent on being the perfect daughter, not on doing what made me happy.

I suppose a constant fear of discovery was what made writing the epic tale over Christmas so difficult. I could never relax enough to let the words flow out onto the page. I was always tensed, checking over my shoulder every other second for my mother, or listening for the soft footsteps of my father. Never could I just lean back and write.

My time at Hogwarts had made me forget all about how impossible writing at home really was, but the turmoil I'd faced over the summer was slowly returning to the forefront of my mind. The thought of continuing on in my quest to write an epic became a much more undesirable task. _Why risk familial alienation?_ I wondered. _I might as well just do what my father wants; I'm never going to finish this stupid poem, anyway._

I was beginning to believe that it was futile; Father already had my entire future mapped out for me. I knew deep down that I could _never_ go against his wishes. If he wanted me to intern for the Minister, than that's what I'd do. I had no choice.

I can feel the steel clamps of obligation closing around me, and from that my desire to write fled. It was hopeless. I shouldn't bother.

My misgivings, however, were forced brutally from my mind when a high-pitched scream rang up from down below.

Jolting backwards in my seat, I could feel my heart pound agains my chest. I lunged for my wand, grabbing it quickly from the nightstand, before I stood and began to move quietly towards the door.

I opened the door, moving out into the hallway, my bare feet brushing against the plush carpet. Below me, I could hear two muffled male voices and the soft protests of a female...

_Mum,_ I thought, moving quickly towards the stairs. I had to save her from... well, from whatever it was. I had to do something, I had to act! As maniacal laughter built up in the room below me, I quickened my pace - And then paused. Maniacal? No, the laughter wasn't like that at all. It was almost amused...

"Give it back!" Lily Potter shrieked as I entered the room. She was jumping in the air, her arms reaching above her head. Floating a foot or so too high for the little first year to reach was her wand...

Albus and James just laughed at their sister's request. "Never," James said with a grin. "This is much too entertaining."

"How are you doing that?" I interjected, pointing up at the hovering wand. "You're younger than me. You can't use magic outside of Hog-"

"Levitation Powder," James answered with a small grin. "Uncle George sent it to me early for Christmas. Said I'd get a laugh out of it."

"He was right," Albus said with a grin. "The wand will only come down when James wants it to. It's a _brilliant_ charm."

"Not from where I'm standing," Lily scowled. "Now give _it back!_"

"Never," James chuckled. "Honestly, Lily, you might as well just give up. You won't win this one, so just let us have our fun, yeah? We'll give you the wand back when we go back to school-"

"Mummy and Daddy didn't give up during the war," Lily protested.

James paused. "Well, yeah, we know that. But that has nothing to do with-"

"They refused to give up, and so I won't give up either!"

James shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Lily, the two events are _vastly _different-"

"She's _eleven_," Albus muttered. "To her, the logic makes sense."

"I can _hear_ you, you know," she said with a glare. "And you're wrong. Mummy and Daddy wouldn't want me to give up. They'd want me to keep fighting to get what I wanted. Lucy will agree with me, won't you? Aren't I right?"

I paused, trying to process her words. She _was_ right; Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny would have certainly wanted her to keep trying to get her wand... But how could I agree with her? How could I agree that fighting for what you wanted was the best option, when I was seriously considering giving up? How could I lie and say that it was the right thing to do when I wanted nothing more than to run away and just appease my parents? How could I lie to her like that?

I swallowed. "Just give her back the wand," I said softly, backing out of the room. "It's not your place to take it."

James' brow furrowed. "Lucy, are you all-"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I just have some homework to work out before Christmas Eve tomorrow. Don't worry. I'll just..." And with that, I left the room and headed quickly upstairs and towards my solitude.

* * *

Upon arriving at my room, however, I realized that I wasn't in solitude after all, but that Molly was sitting there at my desk, holding the manuscript that I'd been contemplating abandoning...

"What in the name of _Merlin_ do you think you're doing!" I yelled, lunging at the desk and yanking the manuscript from her hands. "That's private! You have no right to read that, Molly." But she just stared at me, her mouth slightly open, as though she were in awe. I blinked. What the... "Molly? Can you answer me, please?" Silence. I scowled. "If you think that by just sitting there like a bloody rock you can diffuse the situation, than you're sorely mistaken!"

"I had no idea," she muttered, her voice soft.

Once again, I blinked. "_What_?"

Her eyes met mine and she shook her head slowly. "Honestly, Lucy. I had no idea."

"Have you gone _mad_? First you read my manuscript, something you think to be so terrible, and then you say-"

"It isn't," she interrupted.

I paused, confused beyond belief. "All right, now you're just being contrary."

"The manuscript," she continued. "Your epic poem. It isn't rubbish."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you'd say that. Bring me some Christmas cheer-"

"No," she said, grabbing onto my wrist. "Lucy... It's brilliant. It's so amazing."

"Molly-"

"We've all heard the stories a thousand times, Lucy. We all know what happened to Tom Riddle, and how he grew up, and about Uncle Harry, and everything... But we never really considered... Tom Riddle wasn't born evil, but he was treated so poorly as a child that he became evil... You go into the thought process of all of the heros... the villains. There's nothing like this out there!"

"Well I tried to tell you," I murmured.

"And it's beautiful, so beautiful... I just want to keep reading. Lucy... You have a gift."

"Yes, well. No one will ever know about my 'gift.'"

Her eyes widened. "Why would you say that?"

I took a deep breath. "Because I can't keep hiding this, Molly. I'm not happy. All of these lies and façades about what I do for fun and what I plan to accomplish in the future... I'm not a bloody Slytherin! I can't keep lying to everyone. So I think I'm going to stop. I think I'll let the epic poem rest-"

"No! Merlin, Lucy, no! You can't stop; it's too good-"

"You're the one who told me I should stop-"

"Lucy, you haven't listened to me for sixteen years, why on _earth_ did you choose now to start?" she questioned. "Please, keep going. If not for your own future plans, then at least for me. I want to read more. I want to see where this goes, what you can do-"

"Why bother? I can't ever do anything with this-"

"You can! You can, and you should." She let out a small chuckle, a bitter chuckle. "Listen to me. I'm exactly like Father was during the war. I abandoned you when you needed me most. I left you without support, without family to depend on... I feel so stupid."

"Molly-"

"No, Lucy. This isn't a pity me thing. This is about you. You're a writer. You were meant to do this."

"But this isn't magic," I said, my voice coming out in a near whisper. "Daddy will never approve."

"But don't you see? Magic isn't always spells and enchantments, Lucy. Magic can be something that will bring people together. This _is _magic. And I think I'm figuring this whole magic thing out. It's just like the fairy tales Aunt Hermione used to tell us. _You, _your story, will bring people together. Your story is magic in its own way."

"Molly-"

She leaned forward, grabbing onto my arm. "Lucy, this life, _my _life, isn't meant for you. You shouldn't be sitting behind a desk all day, measuring cauldrons and sucking up to the Minister. You should be doing what you love and changing people's lives."

I wanted to give in; so badly did I want her words to be true. If Molly supported me, then maybe there was some hope. Maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay... But I shook my head, blinking back tears. "I can't."

"You can," she said, brushing her hand against my face. "I have faith in you, Lucy. I'll always be here for you. I promise. You're destined for so much. And I won't abandon you ever again."

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Little Lucy!"

I smiled, taking the red Christmas hat Mum offered to me. "Thanks, Mum."

"You better put that on! Don't just toss it in the trash like your father did!"

"Oh, never," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, at least pretend to be excited! It's Christmas Eve, for Merlin's sake!"

I gave her a thumbs-up, like something Uncle Ron would do, and a perky, fake grin. "Are you ready to get down, you funky party Weasel?"

"Oh, haha, dear. Funny. Very clever, punning off of our own name." She shook her head, muttering to herself. "Can't have a celebration without any party hats, right? Very important, those hats," she twisted her long hair up into a knot as she spoke, tying it behind her with a red ribbon. "Before I forget to tell you, George's family will be over for dinner tonight."

"Oh, I thought he couldn't make it."

"He said he was still recovering from hosting last year's dinner," Mum said with a laugh. "I don't blame him, you know. We _are_ a rowdy bunch, the Weasleys. Sometimes I'm quite thankful to be married to the only one of them who doesn't use a family get-together as an excuse for tomfoolery. Oh! The roast should be done soaking by now," she said, moving swiftly into the kitchen.

I laughed, following after her. "Mum, you are absolutely _mad_ to host Christmas Eve dinner, you know that, right?"

"I could hardly say no. It's our turn!" she said as she brushed a thin glaze over the roast.

"Here, let me," I said, taking the brush. "But Mum, there will be twenty-three of us-"

"Twenty-seven, dear. Remember, George and his family are coming."

"We should have just let the Potters host it again. Merlin knows Aunt Ginny _loves_ doing this sort of thing."

"Oh, but that would be rude. Come now, you can't tell me that you don't _like_ having the whole family together."

I rolled my eyes, putting the brush down. "I never said that."

"Then it'll be fun. Besides, your Aunt Hermione will be there. You've always gotten on well with her. Maybe you can speak to her about that Shakespeare-like novel you're writing but won't tell anyone about."

My mouth dropped open, my eyes widening as Mum slid a second roast in front of us and began to apply a light glaze over it. "Epic poem," I said slowly. "It's not a novel, it's an epic poem. And it's Homer, not Shakespe- How did you-"

"Molly told me about your little project a year ago," she said, giving me a swift glance. "Surely _you_ should know by now that your sister can't keep a secret if she thinks she could get something out of it. Should have been in Slytherin, that one-"

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, unsure of myself. Someone else knew. Someone else knew my secret...

"You clearly didn't want me to know," she said with a shrug. "All of that time you spent holed up in your room... I figured you'd tell me when the time was right, but you never did."

"But... But you want me to work for the Minister! You want me to take that internship-"

She shook her head. "I want you to be happy, Little Lucy. That's all. The internship is a great opportunity, don't get me wrong. But if this makes you happy, then I'll support you."

"But Molly-"

"Came to me last night and told me that you were losing heart," she said, grabbing onto my hand. "Lucy, I don't care if you work for the Ministry, or write an epic poem, or become a juggling street peddler - though I'd prefer it weren't the last one, mind you - I love you. You're my daughter, and I will always support you. Don't forget it."

I couldn't help it. Before I knew what I was doing, tears were falling, and I was in her arms, crying for the first real time in months.

* * *

It wasn't long after Aunt Hermione arrived later that afternoon before she'd cornered me in the hallway. Her eyes were bright, a look that scared me immensely. I may have always gotten on well with her, but that didn't mean I was impervious to her terrifyingly astute conclusions. "Lucy," she said, grinning down at me.

I swallowed. "Hello, Aunt Hermione."

"Oh, you seem nervous! Sorry about that; I don't mean to worry you." She gave a small laugh. "Shall I just get right to the point? That might be the least tension-filled way. I spoke with your mother via fireplace today."

I couldn't help but scowl. "Can no one keep a secret anymore?"

"Lucy," she said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

"Aunt Hermione, there's nothing to-"

"But there is. You've identified what you want to do. You've worked hard, you've done your research, and you've done it all without your parents approval. There's a lot to be proud of."

I shut my eyes, tilting my head away from her. "I was going to quit."

"Are you still going to?"

I shrugged, looking up at her again. "I don't know... Father means so much to me... I can't lose him!"

"But this is your dream, Lucy. You have your mum, you have Molly, you have me... I daresay you have Ron and your cousins as well. Even if your father doesn't approve, he'll come around eventually. He always does."

"You don't know-"

"Trust me," she said with a grin. "I would know. No matter how much of a prat he's being now, he'll come around in the end. And until then, we've got your back. I'll help you in any way I can. I can do interviews for you, or you can see some of my memories-"

I bit my lip. "That _would _be rather helpful..."

"Of course! I'd _love_ to assist you like this. But Lucy... You have to tell your father."

"No."

"Lucy-"

"I can't! He'd never forgive me!"

"You don't-"

"He has an entire life planned out for me! How am I supposed to tell him that I don't want it anymore? How can I say to him that all he's done for me, all he's sacrificed, means nothing, because I don't want the life he's providing for me? How?"

She just shook her head, though, wrapping her arms around me. "I don't know," she whispered at last. "But you have to tell him. You can't keep doing this, Lucy. You'll drive yourself mad. You have to tell him."

* * *

I knew that Aunt Hermione was right; this couldn't continue for much longer. I was so confused and so unsure of myself. Keeping this secret was killing me.

But at the same time, I was hesitant to tell my father. Yes, this secret-keeping business needed to end; I could admit that. But could I really do it? Could I stand up to Father like everyone wanted me to? Could I follow my heart, even if it meant alienating my own flesh and blood?

It was as I was making this decision that I encountered Rose Weasley, sitting in a corner by herself with her nose buried in a book. Raising my eyebrows, I approached her. "Happy Christmas, Rose."

She looked up, placing her finger on the page where she'd left off. "And to you," she said with a smile.

"Why aren't you with the rest of the family?" I asked. "There's an entire celebration going on, you know."

"Oh, I'll join you lot in a bit. I just want to finish this chapter first," she explained. "Mum made us leave before I had a chance to get to a good stopping point."

"What book?"

She held it up, showing me the cover. "_To Kill a Mockingbird_," she said with a grin. "It's by-"

"Harper Lee," I nodded. "Yes, your mum lent it to me a few years ago."

"She gave me a copy for Christmas. Along with a few other books, of course," she said with a laugh. "I just started this today, and it's been absolutely impossible to put down!"

"It is a good book," I admitted.

"It's bloody brilliant! I absolutely _adore_ Atticus. The way that he stands up for everything he believes in... It's just so marvelous. He _never_ backs down. He always stays true to himself and does what he thinks is right. I just love it!"

And that was when it hit me. Why was I hiding who I was? Why couldn't I just tell my father the truth? _I don't want to give up my beliefs just to make other people happy. I don't want to be Hardy's Tess Durbeyfield. I want to be Atticus Finch._

I didn't want to waste any time; I couldn't risk changing my mind. So I stepped away from Rose, retreating quickly down the hall. "Sorry," I said as I backed away. "But there's something I have to do."

* * *

"I need to speak to you for a moment."

"Little Lucy! Hey, there's my girl," Father said, draping his arm around my shoulder. "Come here and tell your uncles all about your schoolwork."

"Dad-"

"She's top of her charms class, this one," he continued on, wiping a stray strand of hair from my face. "She'll work under the Minister himself one day."

"Dear Merlin, Percy," George moaned, before chuckling to himself. "Way to put some pressure on the poor girl."

"Not at all! She will! Tell them, Lucy-"

"Actually Dad, I _must _speak with you right away."

He raised an eyebrow. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, yes. It's just... important that I speak with you alone. Now."

He sighed, stretching his arms up and over his head before he stood up. "Your mother hasn't burnt the roast now, has she? I wouldn't put it past her, but all the same..." I led him out of the living room and into the hallway, stopping in front of the door, just in case I needed to make a quick exit. He gave me a long look as I stopped, waiting for me to say something, before he raised his eyes and asked, "Well?"

"Father-" I paused. Was I really going to do this? Was I going to stop the charade at last? "I don't really know what to say."

"The truth," he said simply. "The truth is always best. Go on, then. What is it?"

I took a deep breath. _This is it,_ I thought to myself, my heart speeding up. _The moment that will define our relationship... And my future._ "Father, I-I'm not going to work for the Ministry."

"Ah, come now, Lucy," he said, taking a step towards me. "Don't be discouraged. You can do anything that you want to if you put your mind to-"

"No," I interrupted. "I don't _want_ to be a Ministry worker."

This threw him; he froze, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at me, taken aback. "But... But we've planned for this! Lucy, this has been our dream-"

"Your dream, Father," I whispered. "Yours. Not mine."

Again, he seemed stunned by my admission, but he quickly recovered. "And what, pray tell, do you plan on doing instead?"

I took another deep breath, preparing myself for the tirade to come. "I want to write."

_"What?_"

"Write. Novels, short-stories... Currently, I'm working on the wizarding world's first ever epic poem... But that's what I want to do. Write. Not work for the Ministry." He was silent, his eyes shut tightly, and I could feel tears well up in my eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I know that this is hard for you. I know you don't approve, and that you'll probably never speak to me again, but this is what I want to do. This is what I'm meant for-"

"Why would you say that?" he asked opening his eyes.

"Because it's true," I said simply. "Writing makes me happy. It's what I'm-"

"Not that!" He stepped closer to me. "Lucy, how could you say that I'll never speak to you again?"

I paused. "Because you won't."

"Lucy!" He reached forward, grabbing onto my forearms. "You're my daughter! _Never_ will I abandon you! _Never!_"

"But-"

"I made that mistake once years ago, Lucy," he said, pulling back a bit. "I left my family... I left Fred, and I lost out on three whole years that I could have spent with my brother... The last three years of his life... How could you possibly think that I'd _ever_ risk doing the same thing to you? How could I_possibly_abandon you, knowing what I lost?"

"But you don't approve," I murmured. "You want me to work in the Ministry-"

"Of course I do! It means financial security and public approval! It can make your life _very_ convenient, Lucy." He sighed. "But if you don't want to... You're so talented, Little Lucy. Whatever you do, whatever dream you follow, I know you'll do me proud. And I'll always be there for you. No matter what."

Tears began to fall down my cheeks at his words. I had been wrong. I had been so wrong. He wasn't going to disown me; I'd been worrying for nothing. My father was going to stick by me, and knowing this was the best feeling in the world. The cliché weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I was finally free. "I love you, Dad!" I whispered, pulling him in for a hug.

He kissed the top of my head. "I love you too, Lucy. And don't you _ever_ forget that."

I let out a small laugh. "Never."

From behind me, all of a sudden, the light and airy voice of my mother spoke out. "Ah! I knew it! I _knew _it!" As Dad and I pulled back, she turned around, calling down the hall. "I was bloody well right, Hermione! He took the news rather well! You owe me five sickles!"

* * *

Lysander opened the door to his family's house bright and early the next morning to find me standing on his porch, a wrapped gift in my hand. He blinked, apparently startled by my appearance, before he spoke. "Lucy?"

"Happy Christmas!" I exclaimed, shoving the gift into his hands.

"What- Lucy, it's seven in the morning. On Christmas... What _the bloody hell_-"

"I wanted to apologize," I said softly, cutting him off before he could get any further. "I didn't treat you very well on the train last week... I'm sorry, Ly. I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong of me."

He paused, looking down at me, before he shook his head. "I don't even know why you're apologizing to me, Lucy. It's not like I was ever going to stop speaking to you."

I laughed, pulling him in for a hug. "Shut it, Lysander!"

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes seeming to adjust to the light as he pulled back and gazed down at me. "There's something different about you, Lucy. You're so much... freer, I guess, since I saw you last. What happened?"

I grinned, shrugging my shoulders at him. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps the change is because I _am_ different now. I was jumpy, and twitchy, and lying on the train. But now?"

"You're not. You're better because you're calmer," he stated.

"No," I said softly, a small smile falling onto my face. "I'm better because I no longer have an urgent need to be subtle."

* * *

Hey everyone! Just wanted to give a quick shout-out to silver-nightstorm, the winner of the Graduation Competition! Her oneshot Time of Your Life is truly amazing, so you should all go check it out!

I feel like this oneshot completes the previous one; it gives it some closure. And so, for the sake of my OCD, I have decided to put them together under one story, so that everything is easy to find.

This was written for the Buffy Quotes Competition, the Fanfiction Idol Competition, and the Start and Stop challenge. I now feel badass, haha.

Update: The first oneshot of this series won first place in the Shakespeare Challenge and in the Paradise Competition!

Some of you seem to like Lucy and Lysander together as a couple, and so I present to you _Bubbles,_ the story of how Lucy and Lysander first got together! Let me know what you think!

I wanted to let you know that I have another new story surrounding Lucy up; it's a lot shorter than this one was, but it's cute and still maintains some of Lucy's little quirks. It's called _I Don't Want to G_o. You should check it out!

Please read and review it, and tell me what you think! Also, if you have any NextGen stories that you would like to see, then let me know. Maybe I'll write them...

Thank you so much! Take care!

-Selene


End file.
